Togiretogire
by TheWriterChick89
Summary: pka Don't Run AU If a child lives with critisism, he learns to condemn. If a child lives with hositility, he learns to fight. This child is Syaoran. and if a child lives with acceptance and friendship, he learns to love. SS FantasyAngstRomance
1. Prologue

A/N:

_I did not write the following poem, but it has given me much inspiration for Syaoran's attitude. The title is 'Children Learn What They Live', Author Unknown, and you will be seeing important snippets from the piece as the story continues. _

Greetings, readers new and old! For the latter, enjoy lack of spelling mistakes and better sentences, not to mention new plot twists. For the former, congrats! You get to read 'Don't Run' version 2.0, which is no longer 'Don't Run', it is now '_**Togiretogire**_', which translates roughly from Japanese into _Broken_! It's new, improved, with less bugs!! Heehee … I'm really happy that I rewrote this - the first version rubbed me the wrong way, and was not how I wanted it to be. On that note, enjoy (if you wanna :P)

p.s. dangit i hope this reaches all the people that had "DR' on their alert list . 

**_Togiretogire_**

8------------8

_If a child lives with shame, He learns to feel guilty._

8------------8

Once upon a time there was a poor boy that was brought into the world from a hateful act.

He lived in ancient magical times, just before the invention of automobiles but still during the time when the world seemed new. In terms of class, he had been lucky; his mother and father, Lord and Lady Jiku, were the rulers of the Eastern Lands, a larger territory than the others due to recent conquests of the War. He grew in a home lacking responsibility, no questions, no demands, no need to make any real contribute to society. The entire community of their village was like this; no one cared. They figured that at the moment, they were fine so they should live it up while they could.

Many of the children he played with were the same - and since children know no better they soon learn to take advantage of their place in life.

They started acting underhanded - making deals, appointing leaders, choosing sides … too much drama for such small children. The poor boy and his older brother had yet to get caught up in it all, until the name calling and the real threats began. Any secret one of the children would have got told and spread throughout the group, as well as the parents. No one went with a wet bed unnoticed - failing grades were announced to all - and then, once every child had been humiliated, the children asked, 'what was wrong with the poor boy?'

One had asked their parents and learned the truth, secretly spreading it around the circle of children.

Everywhere the poor boy turned he heard harsh words and ruthless glances. Sometimes the stares looked at him in disgust; other times it was shame or pity. He felt guilty without knowing what he had done wrong.

The truth of the boy got to his brother and he even became angry with him. One day, he shouted at him, called him a bastard. The boy was instantly confused, and consulted his mother on the word.

He soon learned why his brother was whipped that very night.

His father sat him down and explained to him how he was born.

It wasn't the simple 'when a man loves a woman' story. The boy had the same mother as his sibling … but he had a different father.

Back during the early days of the war there was chaos and no one felt safe. It was far different from the present time; nowadays hundreds of thousands of miles of barren land separated the East and West, the North and South. The citizens felt like there was an impenetrable wall between them and their enemies. But it was never that way before. People lived in fear - thieving, killing, homicide and terrorism were expected on a regular basis. Kidnappings and raping occurred during broad daylight between enemies. And the boy's mother was no exception.

The boy's biological father was the enemy - the Lord of the Western lands. He snuck into the territory, defiled her and left her pregnant and hysterical.

The boy watched his mother cry. She cried over him. She cried over that man.

So he blamed himself and the man. Day by day he mentally beat on himself; his mind was a deathtrap. Also he blamed the man viciously. He hated him for hurtirg his mother so, and wanted revenge one day. He didn't know how, or when, but he wanted it.

He showed no tears, but he didn't smile either. The minute he learned the gravity of the situation he adopted a feeling in the pit of his stomach. It burned, and he imagined that it was a black mass of some kind of evil substance. He wanted it to go away and despite his attempts to act like never was wrong … it never seemed to leave.

He decided he needed something to focus on, thinking that the mass would disappear if he fought against the reason for its existence. The next morning he went to the household's martial arts master, who was once a knight of the state before the war broke out, asking for lessons. This shocked the master and he inquired the head of the household about it … but his father waved it off, allowing his five year old son to wield weapons and learn the art of defense and death. Reluctantly the man began to train him.

8------------8

_If a child lives with criticism, He learns to condemn._

8------------8

As the boy grew older he learned how mistakes never went unnoticed. If he spoke out of turn during a town council meeting he would get looks of disgust on his way through the market. If he made a fool of himself in his schooling the parents of his peers would ask how the son of their leader could be so moronic, compared to his older brother who was excelling in everything. And soon they started saying, 'he's this way because of his real father.'

Every corner he turned he saw them … their joking, cruel faces … sometimes in shame, or fear, or plain old loathing … they reminded him of the children back when he was young, who made fun of him for something he couldn't help … who made him ask about the word bastard and learn how he was one … they judged him before they even knew him.

… and the mass in his stomach grew, like a virus, spreading through his torso and chest.

8------------8

_If a child lives with hostility, He learns to fight._

8------------8

During his training his master noticed he had,began to get more aggressive in his attacks, and more concentrated on his meditations. When the master consulted the boy's 'father', the man told him to teach the boy throughout the day. The boy was removed from school. Martial Art was now his life.

It was no longer a mass. It truly was a virus that seemed to empty everything he once held dear. He was no longer the child he used to be … he was becoming another spirit. He lost the emotions of happiness, the reason to smile, the desire to laugh … any of the goodness that makes any other person's life livable. As his body grew it became numb of sensation, other than the cold dark hatred.

He began to lash out at his family because of this. Arguments at the dinner table were no surprise. After a while the boy began to storm out of the house after the bickering was done, slamming the door behind him. Soon, as he wandering around the streets of his village, he began to head into the red-light district. As he got even older he began to bring girls home, girls who reeked of booze and exposed skin to anyone.

It wasn't that he stopped caring what other people thought. He stopped caring … about anything.

The virus had engulfed the boy entirely when his master died of illness. After that he stopped talking to anyone. He only went to three places; the study, the dojo and the rougher parts of the village. In the study he read books on geography for hours on end. In the dojo he ignored the pain in his joints or the blood he spilt. In the village he would disappear into clouds of smoke

He was basically an empty shell. A cold, unfeeling empty shell.

Well, he wasn't so unfeeling. He still felt a need for revenge, and put blame on one thing for all of his misery and hardships that he had endured.

His real father was the reason he was brought to this world.

And he figured the only real way to feel peace once more - that childlike peace he endured because of the innocence involved with ignorance - was to murder his father.

8------------------8

_If a child lives with acceptance and friendship, he learns to find love in the world._

8------------------8

In the end, he achieves that peace … but not in the way he expected it.

This is his story …

_To Be Continued …_

Inspiration:  
Lying from You - _Linkin Park_


	2. Phase 1

The great world of Clow had many different climates … the south was desert and barren. The north was cold and forested. The west was tropical, as it lay on the coast. And the east was mountainous and prosperous. The majority of the citizens of the east lived scattered in villages, but there was one village that was larger, the most noble, since it was the home of their leader.

The village remained quiet, as stars twinkled down from the night sky on the partying guests. Surrounding houses were silent, with a peaceful chirping of crickets nearby. Except for the Lord and Lady's house on the top of the hill. Inside, a party was occurring. Guests laughed and socialites chitchatted with others in the large drawing room, while soft music played in the background. They all wore elegant robes or suits, drinking champagne and not having a care in the world. One group of tittering girls was particularly noticeable – they were paying attention to the man in their circle. It was Eriol, eldest son of the Jiku's. The party was in his honor; he had recently turned nineteen, meaning he was eligible by tradition for marriage.

Therefore explaining the twittering girls.

C'mon, who wouldn't want to be daughter-in-law to the chief of the East? Especially when the son was so handsome. His blue eyes twinkled behind his glasses, making him look intelligent.

Regrettably this attention did nothing to lower the size of his head. The Ego boost was enough to last him a month-long smug grin. Ever since puberty he had been able to adopt the look thanks to the self-esteem lift given by girls attempting to catch his eye, or shop owners sucking up to him by offering free meals, or the local trades people presenting priceless gifts. It was one of his favorite pastimes and he had no trouble with being the receiver of the brown nosing.

Unfortunately there was still one thing that could take away his fun.

The boy suddenly stopped mid-laugh as he saw a streak of black out of the corner of his eye. Someone was moving swiftly through the crowd of people, not bothering to greet anyone or to stop for a chat. Getting suspicious, he drew his interest to it and smirked at what he saw. He knew who it was … the fun was not entirely ruined, though. Annoying this boy was a great hobby as well. He called out, "Why, Syaoran, Where could you be going when there's a party like this?"

The energy of the girls disappeared when they looked over and saw whom their crush was talking to. They all stared dully at the black streak, which was really a boy a year younger than them that they knew about all too well.

The boy was trying to walk through the room without drawing any stares. (Well, _that_ worked.) His expression, one of boredom and annoyance mixed glanced over at Eriol for a second, before continuing his path to the door.

Eriol smirked, knowing that he had done his job and was satisfied with the results. The job, of course, was to embarrass his younger brother who hated being the center of attention. Knowing this, he turned back to his group of admirers and began to talk about politics once again, and five seconds later, he made them laugh. He didn't care that they were brownnosing him like there was no tomorrow – it gave him something to do.

Syaoran kept his eyes on the door ahead, making a beeline to them. If he could make it that far, with no one noticing, he just might make it all the way out unobserved - except for the obvious brother. He shifted his black leather jacket, the pack at his side feeling like a monstrous hump on his hip – he had to hide it under his coat so no one would get suspicious – but it started to dig into his side …

At that exact moment, his mother, after hearing Eriol call out to him, spotted her other son and spoke above the crowd, "Syaoran, be back before dawn at least, please?"

Syaoran froze for the slightest of moments, as he felt a dozen stares on his back. _Oh yeah, that REALLY worked ... _but he didn't reply. He ignored her as he walked again and was soon out the door.

He was definitely _not_ going to be back by dawn. Hell, by dawn he was hoping to be in the next village - wherever that may be.

Because he was running away.

For _good._

He went out to the stables and grabbed his trusted horse, Ediyos, a brown and white beauty on some of the fastest legs in the world. Not bothering to tack up fully, he just pulled on the mare's reins, jumped on his back and rode off.

Syaoran has changed a lot since we last saw him in his five-year-old state. Growing up the only thing on his mind was his mission involving the Western lord. Being that concerned with assassination at such a young age could do things to a child's heart – he never smiled. He never played. He was constantly in the dojo practicing his technique. The boy never made any friends either. To add to his problems, what other parents would translate as a desperate cry for love and attention, his parents weren't even shocked when he began to hang out in the 'bad' parts of town during his teen years, occasionally coming home with girls from the local brothels. Neither were they irked when they heard about accidents he was getting into from late night races or bar fights. They didn't worry when he disappeared for weeks at a time. All they did was shake their heads when they saw him come through the door covered in bruises, or cuts or with another floozy hanging off his arm.

Every night, ever since then, he's been hanging around shady clubs and dark alleys with a lonely group of teenagers like himself, causing his parents to believe these were his new friends. What they didn't understand is that they were not friends – they were practice. In the back alleys no one snitched about who started a fight that got a local merchants son into a coma. Most of the time the answer was the same person – Syaoran. And if one did snitch they would become the next comatose kid in the neighborhood.

But he didn't care. To him it was all technique. It was all training leading up to the moment he determined would finally make him feel normal.

But now he's had too much fun. He was done practicing. There had been too many nights where he had gotten into multiple aggressive battles and came home without so much as a scratch. He was at the peak of his physical condition. His eighteenth birthday was a few weeks ago. He was a man and he was ready. So … he was going to go out and kill the man that made him.

The guards stepped aside and opened the gates wide, to allow his horse to race through and enter the empty streets of the village. The gates were closed before the guards could notice him taking a different route than the one to his usual hangout.

Soon he was at the village gates, unguarded except for a snoring man beside the door. Syaoran smirked internally – he couldn't remember the last time he smiled. Smiling was weakness. Smiling made others not take you seriously. So far that had proven to be true. He kicked at the mare's sides and rode out the gates, across the green grassy land that lay before the desert a mile ahead.

After kicking the horse into a full sprint he found himself in the sand faster than he had expected. He reared the horse, turning him around to stare at the edge of the grassland. His eyes roamed up to the house on top of the hillside. The manor, his home, his dungeon. It was alight for the party.

_Let them party_, he thought. _I'll be the one getting something done while they have their champagne and cocktails, acting like nothing is really going on. _

Syaoran shook his head to clear his thoughts, and continued forward in a full gallop. _Goodbye, assholes._

8-------------8

He only rode for ten minutes when something stopped him.

The horse was galloping fast through the hard sand, while Syaoran thought they were making excellent time. Hell, he could make it to the next _two_ villages by dawn, if he kept this up.

Suddenly his horse froze and reared, sending Syaoran flying forward against Ediyos' neck and then flying back at amazing speed. Syaoran tightly gripped the reins, attempting to stay on the mare's back. He began to speak calmly to him, attempting to sooth the animal down. The mare lowered his feet and took a few steps backwards. The boy slid off, reaching forward to pet Ediyos' nose in comfort while staring at the ground around him, trying to decipher what had spooked the horse. Nothing but sand as far as the eye could see – wait.

A girl was lying half in, half out of the sand. Slowly he stepped forward, staring down at her. She was definitely unconscious, but he could see her breathing … shallowly, but breathing nonetheless. The little bit of clothes that he could see through the sand was torn and dirty, most likely from a sand storm that got her out here in the first place.

He shrugged, turning back to his horse. Whatever. It wasn't his business – maybe she was involved with a conspiracy and her gang leaders wanted to leave her out here. Or, what was the point? She was probably going to die soon anyway …

The boy gripped the top of the horse, ready to hoist himself up – but something stopped him.

His heart let out a small twinge of pain. Wincing, he looked back regrettably at the girl. _Do NOT tell me I'm starting to get a conscience. Not NOW of all times._

The chest of the girl was rising and falling shakily, as if struggling to stay alive. If that body had been stuck outside in the blistering sun all day … well, she wouldn't be around by noon tomorrow.

He suddenly frowned at himself. _Why am I thinking this? Of course she won't make it through a day in the desert …why do I care? That's life …_

His logic told him to grip the saddle and pull … but he wouldn't pull. He stood there, motionless.

_Why _do_ I care?_

…_**dammit.**_

He trudged through the sand and sank to his knees, pulling the girls torso out of the sand and brushing away the dirt from her face. Sighing, he picked her up bridal style, a smooth stream of sand falling from her to the ground. Looking ahead, he saw the miles and miles of desert sand that meant freedom. But now he was heading home. He looked over his shoulder at the village, a glowing space in the distance. So close, and yet so far. He glared down at her face, fully aware that she probably couldn't hear him, but said, "Why do I feel like I'm gonna regret this?"


	3. Phase 2

Hello ladies and gents (do guys read my stuff?? now THERE'S a question, haha!)

Here's a very delayed update! Enjoy!!

8------------8

Tomoyo Daidouji woke with a pleasant feeling. Her skin was clean, her once aching joints were soothed … she moaned with a happy grin on her face, as she stretched out against the pillowtop mattress.

But then reality hit her.

The troops. The sand. The storm. Her people.

That's the last thing she could remember … and yet, none of them explained why she was staring up at a beautiful painting on the ceiling above her head.

Carefully she sat up, clutching the sheets – the silk sheets, she noted – to her chest, wary of others that may be around. The room she slept in was well furnished, with fancy couches and beautifully carved wardrobes. She noticed that someone had changed her from her tattered robes and she had been placed in a silk nightgown. A set of clean robes were placed carefully at the foot of her bed.

She narrowed her amethyst eyes, trying to decipher her situation. How could this be? The night before she was sleeping on the cold sand in her old dirty scraps of clothing. And now she was in paradise?

Slowly, looking around to make sure she hadn't missed someone hiding in the corner, she kicked her quilt back and crawled forward, quickly changing into pants and shirt. She noted the detail of the embroidery – very expensive … and very eastern. The dragon running along the mountaintops across her shirt made it plain to her where she was.

Groaning at the realization of her location, she quickly thought out possible scenarios in her mind. The Eastern lord wants her for a slave – or an actual innocent bystander wanted to help her – or she could be in the palace of the enemy and he may not know it –

The last time she checked the map, her and her troops were heading north to enter much safer territory, even though that meant sneaking past the lion's den. But a storm hit. If she got thrown about in that thing – which is how her body felt, despite the relaxing sleep she had, there was a chance she was _in _the lions den.

Confronting him was the last thing she wanted to do. So, just as her brain was processing the idea of jumping out the window, scaling down the wall (pausing to consider how high above the ground floor she may be and how long it would take) and breaking into the stables for a horse, the door to her room opened, causing her to jump.

It was only a servant. The maid walked in with a tray filled with breakfast foods, humming to herself. When she looked up and saw that the guest was standing next to the window, she almost dropped the food in surprise. Quickly she bowed, and muttered, "Forgive me, madam, I shall fetch the master."

Tomoyo reached out a hand, attempting to tell the girl she could have all the gold she would ever need if she helped her escape, but she had already turned and left. Tomoyo cursed to herself, quickly running her fingers through her long black hair, attempting to look decent. She wasn't going to look like a fool in front of this man – not for the sake of her mother.

Footsteps slowly approached from the hallway, and she simply stood her ground. For a moment she closed her eyes and muttered a quick prayer, for the Gods to forgive her for her false appearance to come. As soon as the steps were in her room her eyes flew open and she stared at Lord Jiku, and a lady, presumably his wife, walking closer to her.

The Lord was a tall man, in his mid-life already. His salt-and-pepper hair and beard proved his age. And in spite of the idea of an older man being wise and charming, there was an air about him. An air of ... deceit. Even the smile he gave her seemed a bit queer. "Good morning, milady," he said. "Did you sleep soundly?"

Tomoyo was able to nod and curtsy for him, as hard as it was to do considering who he was. (as hard as that was to do considering who it was for) and rose with a smile. "Yes, thank you, your grace."

"How on earth did you end up in the middle of the desert, unconscious?" the lady asked.

Tomoyo made a quick moment to stare at her, taking her in – this was the woman who was able to live as wife to Lord Jiku. If Tomoyo had that position she would have killed herself before considering it ... But Tomoyo simply giggled foolishly. "A storm came up unexpectedly, your grace. That's the last thing I remember. I must've been separated from my companions."

The Lord and Lady laughed – a sound that sounded normal to others, but chilled the girl to the bone.

"Understandable," the Lord said. "Our storms are indeed, treacherous and unexpected."

"I don't know how to repay your kindness," Tomoyo went on. Butter them up, she thought.

"Nonsense," the Lord stated again. "We help our fellow man. Our son found you and brought you back … proving he has the compassion that we Jiku's portray."

"Why he was out that far in the desert in the first place," The lady stated, looking a bit annoyed, "is still under investigation."

Tomoyo raised her eyebrows – family drama was always intriguing. But they were buying her act well - she couldn't ask questions now. She cleared her throat and said, "I'd like to meet him, and thank him."

"He will be in the judo for the next few hours, he only began his training a moment ago," The Lord stated. "Until then … how do you plan to meet with your companions?"

"We have a meeting place for such an occasion, just a day down the road," Tomoyo offered. _Yes, perfect, you look like an innocent traveler – forgive me, gods, for the falseness, but I need it to live._ "Surely they will wait for me there. If I could bother your grace for a horse-"

"Of course. We'll do you one better."

"Oh?"

"We'll send our son with you, to escort you to safety."

And all of her hard work was for nothing.

…_fuck._

8------------8

Tomoyo Daidouji was born and raised in the ways of the old court. Her mother, Lady Daidouji, had been the only known female to be an advisor to the Council. And although the Old Federation had been destroyed and torn apart before Tomoyo was born, her mother had been determined to show her that with enough hard work a woman never had to do what men told her. Unfortunately the majority of the world thought against this – hence the damsel-in-distress act for Lord Jiku.

She had never been forced into dresses, except for the odd ball or gala. She had been taught to fight like every other soldier in her mothers fortress. And she had been sitting with her mother at Resistance meetings since she was ten. She was no fool of the ways of the world.

And for the first time in her life her mother had assigned her to be captain of a mission; to get to the west, to talk to the lord there. She was anxious about it, and determined not to screw things up. She would be a hero for the information exchanged between the two parties. And, due to her lack of involvement of any of the old missions, she would've completed the two week journey unnoticed.

But then she got stuck in a sandstorm three days into her trek, had ended up in the enemy's _guest room_ and now had his son following her around.

After receiving instructions on how to reach the dojo, Tomoyo bit her bottom lip raw as she deliberated in her head. She was praying to the gods that this wasn't the bastard son of Jiku … everyone had heard the story. There was still gossip to this very day, eighteen years after the initial incident, surrounding the boy. And one of the stories was that he was a ticking time bomb. He was irrational, volatile, unpredictable - … but rumours were always a thousand times worse than the actual problem, right? He couldn't be that horrible, could he?

He did save her. He could have left her, but he showed he was humane.

_Or this whole thing is an elaborate scheme and he brought me back to his father as a sacrificial lamb, _she thought bitterly.

The stairwell she entered wound upwards to the tower that held the dojo. Tomoyo stepped lightly, not looking forward to this.

But as she neared she didn't hear any movement. She was confused – either he was a very silent fighter or he had left already.

Upon reaching the open doorway up ahead she stopped, peering lightly around the corner. She stood on the tips of her toes to see above the step that ended at the floor of the room.

He was there alright – and as she watched him practice she couldn't stop her jaw from dropping in awe. He wasn't huge, but he had strength; she saw the muscles ripple across his arms with each punch and the power in each kick. His eyes were burning deep amber, focused, concentrated. And through it all he barely made a sound.

Tomoyo gulped. He truly was a bomb waiting to go off.

Syaoran had heard someone coming up the stairs a long time ago, and was thoroughly pissed. He had given specific instructions for no one to bother him during his morning routine. But when he sensed that this was neither his family nor a servant, he was about to go on defensive guard – and then she poked her head over the stairs. He scoffed. The girl he had rescued had come up to bother him.

Finally, after she watched for a few more minutes, he stopped, silent, still ... and said, "Can I help you with anything?"

Tomoyo nearly jumped when his voice echoed through the large room. She blushed in embarrassment; of course he knew she was there. She couldn't possibly believe that she was invisible, could she? Ugh ... she climbed a few most of her could be seen from the doorway.

First things first; she bowed deeply, her hair falling over her shoulders as she said, "I've come to thank you for saving me, sir. I'm eternally grateful." While he couldn't see her face, she grimaced. "A-And I'm even more grateful for you offering your services to me later-"

"Pulling you out of the dirt was a nuisance."

Her head shot up as fast as the condescending tone sent a chill up her spine. She stared wide-eyed and for the first time caught eyes with him. Despite his angry glare, he was very handsome.

Syaoran walked to the far side of the dojo to pick up his fallen shirt. As he pulled it over his head Tomoyo suddenly realized that he had been shirtless this whole time and took note of the distinct muscles across his chest, and couldn't help but blush ... before mentally slapping herself, that is. He had just insulted her, for god's sake! She cleared her throat and asked, "Excuse me?"

"It was a nuisance that ruined my plans – I could've just sent a flare for the guards to come get you, but instead of being half-way across the desert, I'm back here." Syaoran began to walk towards the doorway, and Tomoyo had a feeling he wasn't going to stop.

She considered herself a very liberal girl, who stood her ground and fought for what was right. But as she saw him coming closer she felt that this was one fight she better step down from. She stepped to the side of the hallway, letting him brush past her. And for some insane reason, she said, "I'm sorry."

Wait, what am I sorry for? That he saved me? No – that I ruined his precious 'schedule'? No – that I'm in this place? Yeah! That's it!

Syaoran grunted, almost sounding like a low laugh, and continued down the steps ... until something hit him. He paused, and turned, looking back up at her. "What did you mean, later?"

Tomoyo blinked in surprise ... his eyes were so intense. So cold. They were hard to look away from. She bit her lip and soon realized she hadn't answered him. "U-Um, your parents said you were going to escort me to my companions ... I had assumed you had offered, but I guess not ..."

His eyes widened for a moment, before looking away from her. Why the hell did they go and do that?! He's got no time for playing bodyguard. First when he arrived back home with the girl no one wanted to look after her, assuming she was one of his lady-friends from his local hangout – but once they realized she was dehydrated and after Syaoran told them that he had simply 'found her in the desert', not only had he been nagged at for the entire day by his mother and his brother about his whereabouts, he was mad at himself for missing one of his few opportunities. However, his father never flinched at the situation. It angered Syaoran that nothing seemed to pride or burden the old man when it came to his illegitimate child ... unlike whenever something dangerous or exciting happened in Eriol's life. But that's how it was, wasn't it? He was the unwanted child ... and now it seemed like he was to be one of the servants, too

... but wait. Now his eyes widened in realization ... this could work out in his favour. Syaoran looked back up at her. "Where?"

She took a moment to reply. "About a day's journey north, at Lake Satsui."

Syaoran almost grinned. Fairly easy to ride off unnoticed when no one was around to watch. He was back on track. Escourt the girl (or dump her?) and then ride west ... he could be to the Western Lord's manor in under ten days ...

He quickly turned away from her, heading down the stairs. "Pack your things," he ordered. "We leave in an hour."

Tomoyo 's eyes widened in surprise, and she found herself stumbling down the stairs. "What? Really?" she asked in surprise. She had no idea how to read this boy ... for a ticking time bomb, he seemed very conniving ... his expression when he asked where she needed to go had changed so much and yet so little that it was driving her curiousity. What was he thinking? Or planning?

Syaoran had just reached the bottom of the tower stairs, a good twenty steps ahead of the girl ... only to slam into his brother.

Eriol laughed, stumbling backward when Syaoran nearly ran into him, but didn't move from the doorway. Syaoran's eyes narrowed when he noticed this too – he didn't have time to be pestered.

"Where you going so fast, Syaoran?" he asked, a playful grin on his face.

Syaoran's glare hardened – it never became this stern except when he was dealing with his older brother, and yet he was the one person who was immune to these glares. "Move it, Eriol."

Tomoyo had heard the other voice and soon reached the stairs behind the boys, and seeing them stand off against each other made her tread the last few stairs carefully. She had a feeling they were related (or not, according to the story) and assumed this was the family drama she had heard about earlier.

"Oh come now, Syaoran," Eriol contined to badger him. "What corner of the planet are you running off to? Hm? We know you were out in the desert last night – you've never drifted that far before – "

Syaoran stepped closer, as if giving his brother one last chance to move on his own, but Eriol didn't budge.

" – so what were you doing? Hm?" Eriol continued to grin .... until he saw the satin slipper hit the stairs behind Syaoran. He looked up at the girl, his eyes widening in surprise – and upon seeing her beautiful face he turned on the charm. "Well this must be the girl you found!"

Tomoyo barely had a chance to nod before the boy swept into an elaborate bow. "And how did you sleep? Are you rested? Poor thing, being out in the desert storm like that ... "

... and then she wanted to throw up. She didn't even bother hiding it from her face – it was schmoozing men like this that made her mother the radical she was.

She frowned and held her head high, stepping up to the boys. "Sir, please, do not talk down to me like a weak little pup."

Syaoran's glare finally broke to stare at the girl. As she approached them, they both stood apart so she could walk past. She entered the breezeway and said, "Women are just as capable as you are at handling trouble." She suddenly raised an eyebrow daringly. "Probably not any of the women _you _socialize with display this, but it is true nonetheless."

Syaoran bit his lip to keep from grinning. He was starting to like this girl. At least they had a mutual hate for Eriol in common.

The bespecticaled boy's jaw had dropped in awe (and humiliation). Never had a woman ever talked to him like that – in other words, this was the first woman he had encountered that wasn't falling head over heels in love with him. The girl flipped her hair and began to walk with her head held high. "Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to pack."

"Pack?" Eriol found his voice again. "Heading out so soon?"

"Yes, your brother has offered to see me to my companions and we're leaving as soon as possible," she answered, still not turning and showing great disrespect by not facing him ... which made it even harder for Syaoran to hide his smirk of delight.

Eriol's facade fell and he looked at his sibling – Syaoran returned to glaring at him. Eriol frowned. Syaoran offering help? Why would he do that? ... he would probably try to run away to wherever he was going again ...

"Well why don't I join you two?"

Tomoyo froze, and when she spun around to stare, her and Syaoran both exclaimed, "What?"

Eriol grinned. "You see, m'lady, my brother and I never get out of the village ... it would be nice to see some of our lovely countryside. And, not to mention," he returned his gaze back to his fuming brother. "We never get to talk. It'll be a good ride back."

The anger building in his chest almost made him explode. Of all the people to become an obstacle, Syaoran would feel the least regret taking care of this one. What did he think he was doing, babysitting him?!

Tomoyo, however, was stuck. What could she say? He _was_ lord of the house .... she had no say in the matter if she was hoping to leave. She eventually shrugged. "Do as you wish."

8------------8

Lord Jiku stared out the large windows overlooking the courtyard. His eyes followed blankly as they watched Syaoran and the girl approach their horses with their bags. He saw the cold expression on the boys face, and noted the sword slung to the horses' saddle. He stared unchanged, uncaring .... just watching it unfold.

At that moment he heard footsteps enter the hall where he stood. Eriol was approaching him, and he spoke. "Father, I'm going to see her off as well. Hope you don't mind – figured I would see some of the country for once – "

"Eriol."

His son noted the odd calm in his voice, and paused where he was. "Yes, father?"

"If Syaoran attempts to run off, let him go."

Eriol frowned. "What?"

8------------8

TO BE CONTINUED ...

8------------8


End file.
